by Cindi Madsen
I kissed her neck and she leaned her head to the side, offering more of her skin for me to lick and tease with my teeth. Her lips called to me again, and I recaptured her mouth. Whitney rolled her tongue over mine, and as the world went fuzzy around the edges, she reached between us and unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. I moaned in relief as I sprung free from the too tight fabric.
I pushed her skirt up her thighs and ground against her again, groaning when I could feel her wet heat through the thin fabric of her gloriously tiny panties.
“Hudson,” she whimpered, and I ground into her again, fire burning deep within me as her half-lidded eyes met mine, the passion there reflecting my own.
I didn’t deserve this girl, I knew that much, but for the first time in a long time, I wanted to believe in something. I wanted to believe in Whitney and me.
“Bedroom,” she said, then she curled her hand around the waistband of my boxers and tugged me toward the door.
I didn’t catch many details about the room, just the vague idea of a desk and a lot of pink. The bed jumped out as the most important feature, and I stopped letting her pull me, pushing her until the backs of her knees hit the bed. I wrapped an arm around her and lowered her onto the quilt.
I edged up her shirt and trailed kisses up the center of her stomach, dipping my tongue into her belly button and smiling at the “oh” that fell from her lips. I continued my way up until her shirt was off, revealing a lacy pink and black bra that matched her tiny thong. With a flick of my wrist, I undid the clasp, and just as the bra slid free, revealing perky breasts, she sat up and grabbed my hand.
“This is going to sound crazy, but…”
I dragged my gaze away from her hard nipples, even though it took every ounce of my self-control not to take a tiny taste first. “What? Tell me what you like. I’m open to whatever, no matter how kinky.”
Her entire body blushed at that, the pink spreading across her breasts and up her neck before settling in her cheeks. “It’s not… What you’re doing is good—like, really, really good, actually—and that’s kind of the problem. Every time the sex is good, I know it means the guy’s going to end up hurting me. So maybe it’d be better if it was just okay.”
It did sound crazy. She wanted to have a mediocre experience the first time we had sex? “Not going to happen.”
“What about the hurting me after?”
The vulnerability in her voice and matching expression shot me right through the heart. “Also not going to happen.”
“That’s what you say, but the chase will be over as soon as we cross this line.” She put her hands over her face. “Oh my gosh, I’m ruining this. Ignore me.”
I pulled her hands free, then I kissed her hard on the mouth. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel like I’ve fully caught you. Got it?”
She nodded, and then she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me so deeply I felt like I’d fallen right over the edge.
As soon our mouths broke apart, I eased her back down on the bed, and my sole purpose narrowed to her pleasure and making sure it lasted as long as possible.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Whitney
I couldn’t believe Hudson didn’t run after I’d asked him to make the sex mediocre.
He dragged his mouth down my neck, the combination of soft lips and scratchy beard sending waves of pleasure through me.
Then he sucked one of my nipples into his mouth, and I cried out, my body automatically arching for more. He moved to the other breast, lavishing it with attention, before trailing long, wet kisses down the center of my body.
When he stopped just short of where I wanted him, I whimpered.
“I know, baby,” he said. “But you asked for this long drawn-out torture. Remember that.”
I was about to protest that I’d done no such thing—in fact, I’d done the opposite—but then he licked the spot where my inner thigh met my panties, and all I could do was focus on the exquisite sensation.
He gave the same treatment to the other side, then he pushed aside the small triangle of fabric and licked right up my center. Every muscle in my body clenched and my thoughts went to wherever thoughts go to die.
As promised, he drew it out, slowly removing my boots and then my underwear as his fingers explored every inch of my legs, and then licking and sucking until my body begged for release. Just when I thought he wasn’t going to ever give it to me, one last lick sent me tumbling right over the edge.
As soon as I could get my limbs to function again, I sat up and gestured with one finger for him to come closer. He crawled up my body, and I reached down and wrapped my hand around the base of his shaft.
He groaned with every stroke, and that intoxicating power filled me again. I’d never felt so powerful with a guy, maybe because I was always unsure and too afraid to say what I wanted.
Hudson reached between us and wrapped his hand around my wrist. “Much more of that, and our night’s going to end before I want it to.”
I stretched my arm toward my nightstand, where I hoped I had a condom, because I really didn’t want to have to go digging in the bathroom, but he pulled one out of his discarded jeans. I watched as he rolled it on, need pulsing deep inside me once again.
He paused right as the head of his penis pressed against my opening, and on a labored breath said, “Maybe we should…stop. I don’t want you to…dump me…once you get what you want.”
I arched my hips in one quick motion, pushing up until he was fully inside me, and all traces of humor vanished from his face. Desire darkened his eyes, and then he pushed back, our hips colliding as he drove them to the mattress. His powerful body moved over me, each thrust sending my body into a dizzying frenzy.
I gripped his arms as I spiraled higher and higher. Pressure built as we moved together, different from before, from somewhere deeper inside, and a euphoric haze took hold of my body.
The orgasm hit me hard and I cried out his name as I came. He smothered it with his mouth, kissing me deeply as he followed right after. His breath stirred my hair and cooled the sweat-dampened skin on my neck as he breathed in and out, in and out, his labored breaths matching mine.
After a minute, he rolled and pulled me to him so that my head rested on his shoulder.
“Holy shit, that was good sex,” he said, curling his hand around my hip. “You good?”
“Mm-hmm.”
A satisfied smile stretched across his face, and I was sure mine mirrored his. “I was right about you.” His fingertips skimmed the curve of my hip. “Definitely vixen.” His hand moved lower. “I’ve told you how much I like your ass, right?”
“No, but I did notice that you’re constantly looking at it or grabbing it.”
“I can’t help it—it’s just so perfect.” He lightly smacked it with his open palm and then gave me a devilish grin.
I laughed and lifted my head for a kiss, the light scratch of his beard tickling my skin and sending another wave of happiness through me. With a sigh, I dropped my head back on his shoulder.
The arm not around me was folded across his abs, and I reached out and traced the swirls of black on his forearm, which was quickly becoming one of my new favorite hobbies. When I reached the jagged scar on the underside—the one that he apparently got from boys being boys—I lingered on the rough puckered skin.
“You’re going to start asking questions, aren’t you?”
Crap. Was that a needy thing to do? But not holding back had worked in my favor several times tonight, so I hesitated to stop now.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” he said. “But first, you owe me a story or something that not many people know about you. I blab all my secrets to you, and I don’t know any of yours.”
Could I tell him that I was more than a sportswriter for the paper right now? That I did have a big story that might get me to where I wanted to be? “You know about how little I know about hockey, although thanks to you, that’s quickly changing…”
H
ere it was. The perfect opening…
But tonight had been so perfect. He’d told me it was okay if we disagreed and that I was opinionated, but I didn’t want to have a debate breaking out during our pillow talk. I’d tell him, I would. But for now, I wanted to stay in this nice, cozy place where he held me tight and everything was right with the world. So I went for my other secret, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know it, either.
“My mama used to be a beauty pageant queen—she even won the Miss Alabama title and competed in the Miss America Pageant. So when I was younger, she entered me into beauty pageants.”
“Like those creepy ones where they try to make the little girls look like dolls?” Hudson looked horrified by the idea, but then he worked to school his features. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”
“No, I get it—that’s why I usually don’t tell people. She wanted to enter me pretty much as soon as I could walk, but my daddy wouldn’t let her. I remember them fighting about it here and there, and with every passing year it came up more and more. When I was twelve, my daddy finally gave in, but only if it was what I wanted. I wanted them to stop arguing more than anything, and at first it was fun, getting all dressed up and traveling around the state to compete. I’d always felt like my mom only tolerated me before, but suddenly she was showering me with attention. She was so happy working the circuit. Picking out the outfits, taking me to tanning appointments, gluing on eyelashes…”
I focused on the 718 inked in the middle of the corded lines that gave Hudson’s arm a bionic muscle sort of look. I hadn’t expected this to be so hard to get out, or the cold that rose up and took hold as I thought about the year that it stopped being fun at all. “The older I got, the more pressure there was, and a lot of the girls had been competing since they were five—the people involved seriously eat, breathe, and sleep pageants. When I was supposed to be practicing my walk and my dance routines, I’d read National Geographic or get caught up in online articles instead.”
“There’s my brainiac,” he said, and warmth flooded me, chasing away the cold.
I looked up and found his eyes fixed on me. He reached out and wrapped a strand of my hair around his finger, the way he’d done the other day.
“Anyway, then my mama and I were the ones who started fighting. She wanted me to work out more, and to diet, because I was gaining weight—I told her it was called growing and developing boobs and a butt; she told me it was laziness. She even took me to a physical trainer and told him to find a way to work off my ‘enormous butt.’”
“Blasphemy,” Hudson said, moving his hand moving protectively over one cheek.
Suddenly the story didn’t seem as hard, and for the first time, I was glad the hours of lunges, squats, and cardio, followed by eating very little didn’t work. “Honestly, the pageant thing wasn’t all bad. I met a lot of nice girls who were focused on spreading the word about worthy causes, and I saw plenty of mothers who worked to keep it fun, and took their daughters out for ice cream, win or lose.”
That was probably partially to blame for my ice cream addiction. I’d wanted that kind of relationship with my mama, and since I couldn’t have it with her, I had it with Lyla. “While they were doing that, my mama was pointing out my flaws and telling me I needed to lose a dress size, and it started to wreck my self-esteem. Finally I told her I wanted out, but she told me we didn’t quit—we worked until we went home with a crown. So I went to my daddy. Sometimes I worry that the fight they had over that was what drove them far enough apart for her to want to leave him.”
I’d never confessed that to anyone, because I was too afraid it was true.
Hudson shook his head. “That’s bullshit. If she didn’t see how beautiful and smart and amazing you are, that’s her loss. She sounds like the type of person who’ll never really be happy.”
That was true. She was never satisfied with her own appearance or body, either. She was always seeking more, and never happy, even when she got it.
Hudson hugged me tighter and kissed my forehead. It was such a tender gesture from a guy I didn’t think I’d ever call tender. Tears pressed in on my eyes, trying to escape. I wasn’t sure if it was the emotion of telling the story, or how he’d responded, or all of it, but I refused to cry right now.
So I swallowed past my tight throat and then lifted my head and smiled at him. “Now, spill.”
“You’re relentless. Relentless, I tell you,” he said, shaking his head. Then he lifted the forearm in question. “Glass bottle.”
I waited for more, but he didn’t say anything. “Hello? I need more information than that. Where’s the rest of the story?”
“I just wanted to hear you beg first.”
I smacked his chest and he laughed. Slowly the humor drained from his face, and I wondered if I should tell him never mind. He’d told me so many sad stories, and it hurt my heart to think he might have more sad ones than happy ones.
“These punks tried to take my hockey gear,” he said. “It was so hard to get as it was, and Dane’s parents floated me the money I didn’t have, so I didn’t care that there was two of them and they were bigger than me. I held out my bag like I was going to give it to them, and when the guy reached for it, I swung with everything I had, knowing I needed to stun him long enough to take out the next guy and run. I hit him right in the throat and it worked—he stumbled backward gripping his neck and trying to catch his breath.
“The other guy had a forty, so he smashed it against the brick wall and came at me. Idiot looked like he’d watched too many bar fights in movies.”
Judging from the jagged scar, the move was more effective than I wanted it to be.
Hudson ran his finger across the puckered white line. “He caught me with it, but I landed a hit in the gut as he did, and followed with a hook to his jaw. Some other people from the neighborhood showed up about then and the two assholes ran away.”
“Did you get stitches?”
“Nah. Mom wasn’t home, so I just bandaged it up and called it good. It healed fine. Then I inked my area code over it. Kind of a reminder of where I came from. My childhood was rough, but it made me who I am.”
I traced my fingers over the scar and tattoo again, marveling the guy had even survived his childhood. He offered up the story of another tattoo and then I moved to the scar over his hipbone.
“Broken hockey stick,” he said. “High school game. The guy swung it back, my momentum was already pushing me forward.”
“Ah, that’s why playing with one gets you a penalty.”
His eyes met mine, the hint of a challenge swimming in the brown depths. “Minor or major?”
“Minor, which means two minutes in the penalty box.”
He beamed at me. “I’m so proud.”
“I can’t believe you’ve had so many injuries. I once rolled my ankle and couldn’t wear heels for a week. Oh, and there was this one time I made dinner, and while I was cutting carrots, I nicked my finger…” I raised it, even though the cut had healed so well that I couldn’t see where it’d been. In fact, I couldn’t remember exactly which finger it was anymore. “Which of your injuries hurt the most?”
Hudson glanced away, his gaze drifting to a darker place, one I wanted to hurry and rescue him from. I placed my hand on the spot over his heart. “Sorry. I don’t know when to stop with the questions, obviously.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” He covered my hand with his. “Raymond, the guy my mom’s marrying”—he ground out the word, disdain dripping from it—“beat me so badly once that he broke a few of my ribs and bruised my right lung. If I hadn’t started coughing up blood, I doubt my mom would’ve taken me to the hospital. I’d taken hard hits, broken bones, and had a skate cut up my shin, but I’d never felt pain like that before—breathing hurt. Moving hurt. Everything hurt.
“I still remember sitting there waiting for X-rays and my mom saying, ‘Tell them you fell, or that it was from playing hockey. Raymond didn’t mean it. He was drunk and you antago
nized him.’ I’d been trying to defend her, because he’d been yelling at her, like he always did when he was wasted…”
Hudson let out a harsh exhale. “Anyway, I thought that if I told, he’d get in trouble and Mom would get sober and start thinking straight again. Instead, she chose him, and I was sent to live with the Welches. I’m not sure she’s ever fully forgiven me for that, either.”
I stared at him, unsure what to say, and tears pressed on my eyes, my refusal to cry useless against the information.
He cupped my chin and used his thumb to wipe away the tear that had escaped. “It’s okay, baby,” he said, his voice grittier than usual. “It was a long time ago, and the next time he tried to hit me, he was the one who got hurt.”
Since I didn’t think I could get out any words, I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I could. We laid there for several minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms. Hudson ran his fingers through my hair repeatedly, the gesture so soothing I nearly fell asleep.
“It’s three a.m.,” he whispered. “I better get back to my place, or I’ll be totally dead for the game tomorrow.”
“You can sleep here,” I offered.
He looked me up and down and I felt him hardening against my hip. “If I stay here, I won’t be sleeping. So while I’m really tempted…”
“I get it,” I said. “Hockey above all.”
With a groan, he got out of the bed and pulled on his clothes. He leaned over me and kissed me good-bye. “See you at the game,” he said. “And I’ll act professional when you come into the locker room, but just know my mind will be in the gutter the entire time.”
He flashed me a smile, and I knew that I was no longer falling for Hudson Decker.
No, I’d surpassed falling and landed myself head over heels in love.
Chapter Forty
Whitney
The logical side of my brain knew that I should abandon my Anatomy of a Player article. But even after six hours of sleep, my body was still pleasantly fuzzy from amazing sex and thinking of naked Hudson made me happy, so I typed in a few more fun facts.
